Sundays are for waking up alongside a hilariously beautiful partner. They turn over and whisper softly in your ear that the pair of you should rob a bank. You agree, if only because of the heavenly way in which they roll the R in rob on their tongue as they say it. You buy matching ski masks and shotguns from a totally regular man in a car park. The next thing you know, you’re pressing two barrels up against the plastiglass of a window and screaming at a terrified clerk to stick it all the fucking bag. You call out to your partner in an effort to ascertain how long it’ll be until the cops show up. “I am delayed,” they respond in a brick-like monotone. What? You wheel around. They’re standing in the middle of the foyer, t-posed in a manner which provokes questions about their treatment of workers. “I am delayed,” they repeat. You turn back around. Thump.

You’re flung onto your back, and a dull pain begins to throb on the right side of your stomach. The bank manager, Adrian Edmondson, stands over you pointing the shotgun you formerly wielded at your head. “The fuzz are en-route, you utter baasssstard” he bellows, seductively rolling the R in bastard. “Any last words?”

Stall, you think. Words begin pouring forth. The first words are from Defector’s Samer Kalaf, who pulled out the receipts of some high-profile folks who threatened to leave New York City if Zohran Mamdani was elected its next mayor, which he has been.

“Honestly I’ve given that a lot of thought—and he’s definitely going to win—going to like Hoboken or Jersey City or something…” Portnoy said when asked about where he would move Barstool if, or when, Mamdani wins…

…Watch out, Hoboken. When reached for comment Thursday, Portnoy declined to say whether he’d follow through on his company relocation plans, but sent this instead:

Suck my cock Samer

Sent from my iPhone

Still no sirens. Ade’s eyes bulge gelatinously behind his spectacles as he continues to point the shotgun at your face. More words, this time about Tavern Keeper, which recently debuted in early access and is being enjoyed by cherry RPS fanzine PC Gamer’s Christopher Livingston.

As you manage your pub, you frequently encounter storybook events, many of which give you choices to make. I had to choose if I wanted to hire that skeleton to work in my bar (I did, naturally), and later he had another quandary when he wondered if having a proper face might endear him more to customers. (I said no. I like his skull just the way it is.)

There are even RPG-like skill checks for certain encounters, like when I was chasing down an arsonist who had been setting fires in my tavern and had to use my dexterity to grab him.

There police are still nowhere to be seen or heard. Heard. Herdling. Some thoughts from Jay Castello at Unwinnable about Herdling, and how it compares to developers Okomotive’s previous works, Far: Lone Sails and Far: Changing Tides.

But if Herdling wants to make a point about humans being an integral part of the ecosystem, it needs both humans and ecosystems. As it stands, all is well in the end for our boy and our flock, but the rest of the world is nothing.

Somehow, you remain un-arrested. Time to break out the big guns. A pretty long discussion about historical fiction and how Ghost of Yotei, Kingdom Come: Deliverance 2, Assassin’s Creed Shadows, and Mafia: The Old Country go about presenting the past. It’s from Reid McCarter at Kotaku.

The Middle Ages and early modern period weren’t stage plays. They, too, were times when people were perpetrators and victims of violence and dislocation, the recipients and providers of courageous and kind acts. How the past looks varies from person to person, culture to culture, nation to nation. It’s a vast expanse, with known and unknown territory alike to explore. It is, essentially, a story we tell about ourselves, sometimes through the plots of video games.

You trail off and glance back up at your glitching partner, out of some forlorn hope they might still save you. “I am still delayed,” they declare, “until at least next year”. It’s all over. Ade Edmondson gurns with joy. Your consciousness slips away.

Then, sirens.